


The Devil is Alive in the South

by orphan_account



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Disturbing Themes, Explicit Sexual Content, Horror, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, demon shane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 02:45:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14632455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "You know, Ryan, for someone who spends so much time looking into the darkness, you are really fucking blind."





	The Devil is Alive in the South

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THE ARCHIVE WARNINGS AND TAGS. This fic is DARK and extremely fucked-up. Shane is a villain here, and this gets pretty twisted regardless of whether or not it's purely fictional. Again, please do not read this if you know you are uncomfortable with the tags and warnings. I do not think Shane is actually a demon or a villain or any type of predator, because again, this is just a fanfic lol. But anyways, here's your warning!

"Oh my God, what the fuck is that?"

Ryan shines the light on his camera at the demonic shape at the edge of the bridge, terror rushing through his veins like a current at the sudden sight of it there.

Shane, in turn, visibly stiffens for a moment; parts his lips and narrows his eyes. In an instant he bellows out a laugh, steadying his own light on the figure. "It's a mailbox, Ryan."

"Oh shit."

Ryan wheezes in relief, bends forward and rests his palms against his knees. He pushes the low thrum of embarrassment away at the sight of Shane still grinning at the lion-shaped postbox in the distance.

"To be fair, who the hell gets a mailbox that's shaped like a fucking lion?"

"The south is a weird place." Shane shrugs, turning away and moving out onto the farthest part of the bridge. His shoes creak against the rusty metal, so loud it masks even the deafening songs of the crickets below them.

Ryan really doesn't like this bridge. He hates the way it breaks off into two different styles, becoming frail and precarious towards the end. He hates the dark woods that surround it, filled to the brim with glowing yellow eyes. Most of all, he hates the way he feels here, that dreadful black pit swirling in his stomach. In all the places they've visited together, Ryan has never felt anything like it. With a shiver coursing up his spine, he realizes it feels like something terrible is coming.

"They couldn't find a name more menacing? Not one better name? Goatman's Bridge, see _that's_ a scary name. Gives you the spooks. But _Hank's Bridge?_ Who's scared of some random dude's name? They might as well have called it 'Larry's Bridge.'"

"It's the legend _behind_ it that makes this bridge scary, Shane. They can't all have horrifying fucking names."

"I mean... I guess." As Shane crouches to avoid a hanging branch overhead Ryan can hear him mutter under his breath, "This place gives me the creeps."

"Holy shit are you actually scared for once? Do you feel a _ghostly_ presence?"

"It's not ghosts I'm worried about, it's Jedediah up the road with his cannibal family spying on us from their window—"

"This isn't fucking Wrong Turn, Shane."

"—playing some old-timey banjo music, sharpening a pitch-fork—"

"What do you think _happens_ in Kentucky?"

Shane raises a hand out in front of himself. "Hey now, bad things happen out in the country. Might I remind you of Keddie Cabin?"

"No, no, you're totally right. When does any good story start with 'so me and my buddy were out on a creepy-as-fuck backroad with no cell-service—"

"Just standing around with a couple cameras, shoutin' at some ghosts!"

Ryan erupts with laughter, enjoying the way Shane's words sooth over the frightened places inside of himself. He takes in the warm curve of his friend's smile, holds it tightly in his mind like one of his holy trinkets. Maybe being out here isn't all that bad. Maybe he's just overreacting as always. After all, they've been out here for hours on end and gotten nothing more than a few static-filled words from the spirit-box.

Feeling a tiny spark of bravery, he turns to Shane and decides to get it over with. He's more than ready to get out of here, wants to get back to the safety of the run-down motel they were sharing. He wants desperately to hear the faint snoring of Shane in his bed at the other side of the room, wants to fall asleep soundly in his presence.

"Alright, there's one last thing we gotta try."

Shane blinks at him in response, brows furrowed.

"We've gotta go out in the middle of the bridge and shout his name three times."

"Well then, Ryan," Shane begins in feigned excitement, "let's get to shoutin'!"

The two men set the camera on its pod, move to the edge of the bridge and place their hands on the cool railing. Ryan dislikes the way his eyes have adjusted, letting him peer down into the eerie-looking stream beneath them. His frightened, wild imagination conjures images of something splashing about down there, creeping through the water. He shakes it away with a shudder.

"Alright," Ryan begins, trying to hide the trembling in his voice. "Let's get this over with."

"Hank!" Shane immediately screeches, cupping his hands over his mouth.

"No, you fucking— no, we both have to do it at the same time."

"Oh. Sorry."

The two men take a deep breath, readying themselves once more to summon the spirit that has been haunting this place for so long.

"Hank!" The men both shout in unison, piercing the air with their voices.

"Hank!" They shout a second time, and Ryan can feel his body crumpling in on itself in anticipation. He looks to Shane once more, timing their next call and then immediately— fuck. The light of the cameras shuts off, leaving them in total darkness.

Pure, unadulterated fear slams into Ryan like a truck. It takes everything within him to choke back a scream, reaching out and clutching at the denim of Shane's jacket for something to hold onto.

"Oh fuck man, oh fuck."

Shane remains stoic, moves calmly over to the cameras with Ryan at his tail.

"There's no way they just died, dude. There's no fucking _way."_

"Guess again," Shane jeers, raising his brows and cocking his head. He kneels at the base of one of the stands, pulls a flashlight out from his bag and holds it out calmly to Ryan— who can't still stop shaking his head.

"No, Shane, please. Let's get the fuck out of here. That wasn't— this isn't— Something's wrong here." His mouth is so dry he fears it might crack, hot breath heaving in and out of his chest. He's never wanted out of a place this quickly, not even the fucking Sallie House.

Shane just looks at him for a moment, their eyes bearing deep into one another's expressions. Shane's calm demeanor contrasts perfectly with how undone Ryan is coming in front of him and at last, he lets out a sigh. "There are no ghosts here, Ryan."

Ryan shakes his head, rubs his hands against his now sweating face anyway. "Can we please just go back to the car? I feel like I'm gonna fucking vomit."

Shane takes a step forward, repeats himself once more. "There are _no_ ghosts here." His voice is different this time; deeper, firmer. 

The smaller man just stares at him, waits for him to hand him a flashlight so they can just fucking go already. They stand there frozen, completely unmoving in the darkness. At last Shane reaches out again to hand it to him, just before pulling away at the last second and causing Ryan to clutch into the air at nothing. It catches Ryan off guard, and he searches Shane's face for— well for what he's not quite sure— but still he finds nothing. The familiar glimmer of amusement, the bright light that's always deep within Shane's eyes is now completely and utterly gone.

"Shane?"

"The other places have had a few otherworldly beings, and that's been pretty fun for me; ya know, catching up and whatnot," Shane pauses, turns and waves the light around them, "But now here we are, after you've dragged me across the entire country, for absolutely _nothing."_

Ryan looks around, still utterly confused. " _What_?"

"Did you even do any research, Ryan? Did you even _try_ to find something?" Shane's voice sounds like anger now, sounds like disgust. "Or did you just try to find an excuse to— ah, yes, that's it, right? Why you picked this place?" The look he gives him reminds Ryan of his mother, full of disappointment and knowing. "You knew it was just an excuse to be alone with me. You knew there wouldn't be anything here."

"What the fu—"

Suddenly Shane pulls away, moves back and opens his long arms to gesture wildly at the space around them. "Well, you sure picked the place this time, Ryan! There's absolutely nothing here! Got two words for ya: _Horse! Shit!"_

"Keep your _voice_ down! I don't... Are we doing a bit?"

When Shane takes another step towards him, he seems huge. He'd always been a big guy— but never enough to make Ryan feel so _small_. A new kind of fear blossoms deep within him, something he imagines women must feel when they walk home alone at night. He's never been afraid of another person like this, especially not Shane.

"You know, Ryan, for someone who spends so much time looking into the darkness, you are really fucking blind."

A sand-colored hand goes out to lightly brush the crook of Shane's bicep. "This is getting weird, dude. Come o—"

Like a mouse that's just stepped onto a trap, Ryan suddenly feels his arm caught in a vice. His eyes widen into saucers at the unnatural grip Shane now has on his wrist.

A voice rises from Shane's throat; low and distorted, unlike anything Ryan has ever heard in his life. "Put that filthy little human-hand on me one more time and you will _lose_ it."

It's then that something happens around them. It suddenly feels as though they're lifted miles above the earth, the air becoming too thin to breathe. Ryan swears he can feel his ears popping, thinks he can taste blood dripping down roof of his mouth.

"This— this is a dream. I'm dreaming."

Shane laughs again, but this time it doesn't comfort him. This time it makes his skin crawl.

"Well... For one, I think that would be called a _nightmare,_ Ryan... But come on, I know you're smarter than that."

Frantically, Ryan darts his eyes between Shane and the end of the bridge, wondering if there's any chance in hell he could outrun him. When he looks back to Shane's eyes he catches something there, something dark, and at last when the man flicks his tongue over his lips he recognizes it.

_Hunger._

Ryan sinks to his knees, and even as Shane's eyes go black he just stays there, shaking.

"What are you?" He croaks, choking back tears.

"I think the word you so carelessly use is 'demon.' Though you know what, baby? I am _so_ much more than that."

Ryan doubles forward, pain stabbing into his chest like a shard of glass. Holy shit, he thinks he's having a heart attack.

"I am the oldest thing that has ever been. I am the strongest of them all. Some might even call me _The Devil._ " Shane shines the flashlight under his face for emphasis, waving his long fingers eerily in front of the cowering man before him.

Ryan looks back up at his friend— what used to be his friend— and swallows loudly. "Are you going to kill me?" _Are you going to eat me?_

Shane nods matter-of-factly.

At once Ryan feels the dam break, feels the well of tears in his eyes begin to spill over onto his cheeks. He thinks about everyone he'll never get to see again. He thinks about Helen, about his parents, about _Shane_ , and he just can't fucking understand why this is happening. Hell, he can't even understand _what_ is even happening.

"But don't worry." Shane continues, smiling softly. "Because first, we're gonna get to have a little fun together."

Immediately Ryan jerks away, feels hot bile rise up in his throat. "What— What do you mean?"

"Oh I think we both know what I mean."

Ryan's tears come to a stop, too shocked to even blink. He pauses for a moment, jaw chattering as it drops open. He stares into Shane's obsidian eyes, begins shaking his head frantically. "No, you can't— I'm— I'm your friend! We were _friends."_

"Eh."

Ryan drags his eyes over Shane's body one last time, can see now beyond a shadow of a doubt that the thing in front of him isn't possibly a human. His body looks stretched out, unnatural; limbs growing and contorting ever so slightly in front of his eyes. Ryan takes a deep breath, and he does the only thing he can think to do in this situation. 

He bolts.

Ryan flees as fast as his feet can carry him, pumping his thin legs until they burn in protest. His footsteps pound against the rusting metal of the bridge, fleeing over it and through the small patch of woods separating him from the nearest house. He can see it now— the light from the window by the front door— so close he can already see himself pounding his fists and begging to be let inside. He's almost there, almost out of the woods, and then—  _thwack!_

Something catches Ryan by the heel of his shoe, sends him slamming face-first into the wet floor of the forest. Stars dance in front of his eyes as he fights hard to stay conscious. He thought that only happened in the movies but alas here they are, lighting up the blackness like hundreds of little fireflies. Ryan groans at the pain in his face, the stinging nettles burrowed into his skin from the impact against the earth.

"Oh, save the theatrics, Ryan. I know you've wanted me to fuck you since the first time you even met me."

Ryan hears Shane's heavy footsteps as they crunch against the twigs and leaves around him. He tries to crawl away on his stomach, but immediately feels Shane press his shoe down firmly against the center of his back.

"Huh? Remember that, Ryan? All those years ago?"

_"I can't breathe—"_

Shane lets out a little huff of air, lifts his foot and lets Ryan roll over onto his back.

The black-haired man gasps, throwing a hand over his chest and feeling his heart slam furiously against his ribs. At last he manages to choke out, "I didn't want to fuck you. I've never— I was just curious. It was... it was _innocent."_

Shane clicks his tongue, takes in a deep hissing breath. "No, no. See, now that's not true." Ryan opens his eyes, sees Shane kneeling down in front of him. He shudders as warm lips press against his ear, whispering, "We _both_ know that's not true."

"Shane, this isn't you. There's— there's something else inside of you, making you say these awful th—"

"Inside me?" Shane chuckles, shakes his head.  "Oh no. There's nothing inside me. But in just a moment, there'll be something inside of _you."_

Ryan can't stop himself. He swings his fist out in front of him, connects hard against the edge of Shane's jaw. It makes a sound like an aluminum bat hitting a baseball but to Ryan's horror, Shane doesn't even flinch. Instead he sits back, wipes a little trail of black liquid out of the corner of his mouth and studies the smear as it glistens on his fingers.

Ryan tries again to sit up, tries to break free, and even though Shane doesn't even move an inch he feels himself slammed back into the earth. The force against him is brutal, holding his arms and legs in place and pushing firmly against his chest.

"Oh, would you just _give it up_ , Ryan! You like this. You like being scared. That's why you do this to yourself. That's why you keep coming back to these places... Back to _me_."

Ryan can see Shane's eyes, changing from black to red; glowing like two hot coals. 

"Can't you see, Ryan? I _own_ you. And you? You fucking love it."

"I wouldn't have done any of this," Ryan chokes out, almost inaudibly. "Not if I knew—"

"You knew what I was." Shane continues, leaning in close enough for his breath to tickle against Ryan's face. "Deep down, you've always known what I was."

Ryan forces himself to look back into the demon's face, but when he does all he can see staring back at him is Shane. Familiar, goofy, light-hearted Shane. Something deep within his chest breaks. This thing, whatever it may be, it really is Shane. It's always been Shane.

And in that moment, Ryan knows that he's right. All this time, all this peering into the darkness and delving into mysteries they were never meant to uncover. It had been right there beside him. Shane, the monster. Ryan had fallen in love with a monster.

"You know, I've never really cared much for foreplay."

Shane's words snap Ryan back to reality, still pinned telekinetically on his back. It takes everything in him just to raise his head, and Shane slams it back down with the blink of an eye.

"Shane— please."

"I've always been more of a 'jump right into the moment' kind of guy. So I dunno, kissing, touching; it just feels like too much exposition."

Ryan can't move a muscle, not even to look down in horror as Shane begins clawing off the denim around his legs. Hooked talons replace the short, human nails that had been at the end of Shane's fingers, stinging like venom when they tear into his flesh. Before Ryan even knows it he's naked from the waist down, the air cool against the fevered flush of his skin.

"Shane, if you do this—"

"Let me ask you something, Ryan," Shane interrupts gleefully, crawling between his spread legs. "When I fuck you, do you think you'll scream as loudly as you do on the show?"

Ryan chokes back a sob, squeezes his eyes shut tightly.

"Geez— That's a shame." Shane lines the head of his dick against Ryan's entrance, readies to push it inside. "I was really looking forward to that." 


End file.
